


here wearing your wounds

by tumbleoutyourhair



Series: flying and burning [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Self-Harm, do i even need to tag that?, like in the most minor of ways, like its wash, we all know what we're getting into here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9449897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbleoutyourhair/pseuds/tumbleoutyourhair
Summary: and now he’s wandering the empty halls of the community center half-heartedly calling out for wash because at least no one can say he didn’t try. he heads towards the bathrooms, attention mostly focused on his phone where junior’s sending him blurry pictures of what appears to be a squirrel or maybe roadkill.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: don't tell them you saw me crying
> 
> warnings: this summary has absolutely nothing to do with the plot of this fic. you're welcome. rated for like four whole f-bombs.

the deal with wash is-

well. tucker doesn’t know what the deal with wash is. the guy’s 6ft of former spec ops disguised under badly dyed blonde hair and solemn grey eyes. he’s got shoulders like a linebacker and everything that comes out of his mouth is drier than the sahara. every interaction tucker’s had with the guy has been snappish and snarky and tucker’s sure the guy is entirely too full of himself and mostly an asshole.

except–

except the first time tucker ever met him he was practically being dragged to a meeting by carolina. there were bags under his eyes and those broad shoulders were hunched defensively and his knuckles were white as they clenched around his coffee mug. he’d been two weeks into a civilian life after being honourably discharged after watching most of his unit be killed in front of him. no one’s going to be at their best after that and really tucker shouldn’t be holding their first few interactions against him. and yet–

_(tucker’s always been too stubborn for his own good)_

he still argues and complains and ignores doc’s chastising frowns and really he’s not the only one in the wrong here if the way wash comes to life and happily goes toe-to-toe with him about _everything_ holy shit doesn’t this guy ever take the stick out of his ass for one minute

_(maybe he ignores carolina’s knowing smirks too so what dude)_

so mostly the deal with wash is tucker sees him a few times a week and spends most of those encounters winding him up and secretly gleeful when wash’s cheeks flush and those stupid freckles (because what kind of self-respecting soldier has freckles for fuck’s sake) stand out like constellations

_(shut the fuck up he doesn’t want to talk about it)_

which leads them to now. now being the semi-regular game of football they’ve haphazardly arranged on the sundays when most of them are free and sarge is hollering because without wash the teams are uneven and donut keeps chirping about how great his tight end is and please for the love of god grif is pretty sure he saw wash heading for the bathrooms please go get him.

and now he’s wandering the empty halls of the community center half-heartedly calling out for wash because at least no one can say he didn’t try. he heads towards the bathrooms, attention mostly focused on his phone where junior’s sending him blurry pictures of what appears to be a squirrel or maybe roadkill.

“hey dude you in here?” he pushes the door open, head coming up. “sarge is about five seconds from–the fuck?”

wash is rocking his forehead against the wall, hands clenched in his hair. he jerks up as tucker comes in, eyes wild and red and wetness streaking his pale face. when he takes a step backwards something cracks beneath his boot and tucker spots several shards of glass on the floor–easily tracked back to the shattered mirror above the sink.

“wash?” tucker says quietly, taking a hesitant step towards him, pausing when the blonde’s shoulders hunch defensively and he gets an odd look on his face–like a cornered animal. tucker frowns, noticing one of wash’s clenched fists is bloody. “dude, hey, it’s just me; it’s tucker.”

wash’s back loosens, eyes a little clearer if no less red. wordlessly, he turns to the sink and begins washing the blood from his skin–aggressively ignoring his splintered reflection in the broken mirror.

“dude are you okay?”

“i’m fine,” he says curtly, expression stoney as he watches the water turn pink and swirl down the drain.

“i’ve got five bucks and a mirror that says you’re lying,” tucker replies, eyeing the way wash’s jaw clenches. he sends a surreptitious text to carolina before sliding his phone into his back pocket and taking a few steps further into the bathroom–taking care to avoid the glass on the floor. wash tracks him from the corner of his eye but tucker carefully keeps his expression casual. “do you need someone to look at that? cause for as much as doc flunked out of med school i think he–”

“no,” wash snaps, turning the water off with a flick of his wrist and ripping several sheets of paper towel from the dispenser. “i don’t _need_ anything, i don’t–”

he freezes when tucker reaches out and curls a firm hand around his wrist. he swallows hard, staring at tucker’s fingers like they’re a bomb embedded into his skin. tucker easily plucks the paper towel from his hands and dabs at the shredded skin of his knuckles. wash looks at him like he’s an alien, like he’s something to be defended against and it makes something bitter twist in tucker’s chest.

without looking up he says, “do you _want_ to talk to someone?”

wash’s hands start trembling and tucker can hear his breath rasping in his throat. he still doesn’t look up; keeps his attention on the hands in his; focuses on the stark contrast of dark and light; makes a note of the calluses and scars and chewed nails; won’t look up because he _doesn’t even know what he’s doing._

“i–” wash starts, chokes, starts again, “i don’t–why are you doing this?”

tucker doesn’t respond for a long moment because he can’t even answer that to himself.

_liar, liar, pants on fire,_ chimes a little voice in his head that sound suspiciously like church.

finally he deems wash’s knuckles sufficiently tended to. he tosses the used towels out but keeps one hand wrapped around his wrist–loath to cut contact entirely with the man walking a fine line as he is. he finds himself absently rubbing his thumb over wash’s pulse and can feel that familiar intense gaze drilling into the side of his head. the tension is ramping up in the small bathroom and tucker can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up so he blurts the first thing that comes to mind.

“i don’t like you.”

surprise seems to momentarily knock wash out of his mood. but it doesn’t last long before he’s tensing up again and trying to pull his wrist free. “i didn’t ask–”

tucker tightens his grip but still won’t look up as he continues digging his grave. “you’re way too serious and think you know everything and dude i don’t think i’ve ever seen you take a joke with anything other than a disapproving look.” he swallows and says the last bit quietly to their shoes. “sometimes i think you forget that you’re not in the army anymore. sometimes i think you forget where you are, and that you forget who _we_ are. or who we aren’t.”

wash makes a terrible noise in the back of his throat and tucker finds himself soothing over his pulse again.

“sometimes you act like you think you were better than us just because we weren’t special forces like you. sometimes you’re a total asshole.”

_“tucker–”_

“but i’ve definitely see you give caboose a piggyback ride before even though he’s almost a head taller than you and simmons told me that you gave him some exercises to do when his prosthetic is bothering him.”

tucker finally looks up and feels like someone kicked him in the chest. wash’s eyes are shining and he’s paler than usual; wet cheeks glinting under the harsh florescent lights. he’s staring at tucker desperately and his whole body is shivering like he’s been dunked in ice.

“i don’t know what you’re trying to say,” he croaks.

“sometimes when carolina looks at you she looks heartbroken,” tucker squeezes his wrist, “and it makes me think that you weren’t always like this. and i think i’m starting to get just how fucked up you are.” he moues disapprovingly when wash tries to squirm away again. “i forget how fresh it all is for you–that you haven’t been here as long as some of us. and i’m sorry dude.”

wash stares at him in disbelief. “tucker, you have _nothing_ to apologize for. if anything i–”

tucker tugs on his wrist. “shut up man, this isn’t a contest. we all know what you’re going through on some level. and i get that you don’t know us all that well yet, and maybe don’t quite trust us yet. we get it. but you just need to know that we’re not just a bunch of jackasses getting together to yell at each other and shoot the shit while skipping work. we’re here for a reason.” he steps closer and ducks his head to keep his eyes locked on wash’s. “if you need us, we’re here for you dude. you might be an asshole but you’re _our_ asshole.”

wash’s throat works furiously and because tucker has clearly lost his mind he reaches up without thinking to knuckle away some of the tracks on his cheeks. “come on, i’m pretty sure donut brought cupcakes again and i want to get a red velvet one before grif eats them all.”

wash gives the tiniest of nods, sniffing and reaching up with his free hand to scrub the wetness from his face. satisfied, if not still thoroughly blown away by the recent events, tucker finally (and not at all reluctantly shut the fuck up) lets go of him and makes to turn back towards the door when he’s stopped by a hand around his own wrist. he looks up to see wash gazing earnestly at him and tucker honestly doesn’t know if this is better or worse (he knows it’s better but _still_ his heart can’t fucking _take this anymore oh my god_ )

“tucker, thank you. i know i haven’t been the easiest person to deal with, but. _thank you._ for trying.”

tucker squirms, hoping to god that the pigment of his skin is hiding his blush. “like i said: you’re one of us. i’d’ve done the same for the others.”

wash arches a brow. “really,” he deadpans.

tucker splutters as he follows wash into the hallway. “well–i mean. probably. except for church. he’d fucking bite my head off. and definitely not donut–i’d let doc deal with that. and i’m still not entirely convinced that tex isn’t actually a robot so–”

“tucker,” wash sighs, but with the slightest crinkle at the corner of his mouth that tucker doesn’t notice because he’s not staring at _all_ , “just accept it–”

_“that’s what she said!”_

“–and move on,” wash continues without pause.

tucker waves a hand like he’s hardly bothered. “yeah, sure, i’m awesome, just remember that the next time you want to yell at me about something. i’m so telling carolina how great you think i am just so you know.”

wash pauses, something crossing his face and tucker wants to kick himself without really knowing why. “tucker, i… i’d really appreciate it if you didn’t–mention this to anyone.”

he looks so hesitant and unsure, gnawing anxiously on the corner of his lip that it’s completely reflexive for tucker to step back into his space. “what, you mean that?” he waves a hand back towards the bathroom. “man no one will care. they won’t think any less of you or anything.”

wash flinches and rubs at his arm. “that’s not–i don’t think that. i just… don’t want anyone else to know right now. next time maybe. but not right now.”

“that’s fine,” and tucker barely notices that he sways even closer. “no one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to.”

“try telling that to doc’s therapy exercises,” he mutters under his breath.

tucker barks out a laugh, bumping wash’s shoulder with his and missing the pleased look that crosses the blonde’s face. they continue heading down the hall, tucker very pointedly ignoring how their hands brush together every other step. the sound of caboose yelling gets louder the closer they get to the exit and tucker snorts fondly to himself.

“we’ll definitely put him on defence; especially if they’ve got donut as quarterback.”

wash clears his throat quietly and says, “i’d offer to be tight end but you’ve clearly got that covered.”

tucker honest to god trips over nothing. he’s probably saved entirely thanks to wash’s quick reflexes. he’s too distracted to put much effort into standing on his own feet and ends up leaning heavily against the blonde while staring up at him in disbelief.

“did you just–”

wash is staring determinedly at the ceiling, but continues to hold him up and his ears are turning red. tucker smirks, and adjusts his body to be leaning into him as opposed to just against him. “well i am a great catcher.”

there’s a long pause, before wash sighs heavily. and even as a blush is slowly spreading across his cheeks, and tucker feels something ghost across his hips, says in his most resigned voice:

“bow chicka bow wow.”

and that’s how carolina finds them moments later. standing in the early afternoon sunlight, curled into each other; tucker laughing hysterically into his chest, wash red-faced but pleased.

he meets her eyes over tucker’s head, and slowly, a smile stretches across his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm slowly bringing all my rvb fics over from [tumblr](http://agentwashingtrash.tumblr.com/). this is entirely [salt's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltsanford/pseuds/saltsanford) fault.


End file.
